Whitefish River The Switch Up

Hiero wasn't the stiff type, not at all even. So even as he laid down on the ground, he couldn't help but lean against the walls of the den rather than using his own spine and muscles to keep himself upright to talk. This was casual after all, not some kind of formal meeting between leader and follower - they were just talking now, right? Keeping one another company for a little while.

About them. He clarified. Seafoam eyes wandering to the pups, softening his gaze to something like a duckling. Harmless, small, fuzzy. None of these puppies are mine and yet I'm always worried if I'm doing enough to help. He knew he shouldn't, everyone had plenty of help to do their own part but seeing everyone so busy made him feel like he should keep himself busy too, they were packmates after all. Family. 

Of course, he could also mean worried for the males who had vanished - but that wasn't a subject he wanted to bring up if he was honest. For her sake. Hunt, fish, and border patrol. Things haven't changed and yet it feels like everything changed. Is puppy season always like this?